A Curse by Any Other Name
by AnaRae
Summary: Snape is hit by a curse that removes his magic. Harry wants to help. Will a relationship develop?
1. Please Read

Okay, here's the regular disclaimers and stuff.  
  
I don't own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does. I am making no money from this endeavor, only providing entertainment.  
  
That said, here's the thing, I dislike posting WIP's, however, I'm stuck on this particular story. I'm not sure where to take it from here. Well, obviously, I want to get Harry and Sev together, the question is how. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.  
  
This hasn't been beta read yet, since it isn't finished. But I have spell and grammar checked it. For the most part. Once it's done this will come down and the completed version will go up.  
  
Thanks again for any and all help.  
  
AnaRae 


	2. 1

"Damn, this one's a dozy. What in Merlin's name did they use for a base on it?" Harry Potter was talking to himself as he surveyed his latest challenge. At 30 he was a curse breaker at a private firm, Glennings and Sons – est. 1284. A damn fine curse breaker if you asked him. He specialized in family heirlooms. It was a thriving branch of curse breaking. Apparently a lot of wizards and witches really disliked their descendants.

He surveyed the latest heirloom with dismay. It was a broach that would render the wearer mute for two months. Why the hell anyone would ever wear it was beyond him, the thing was hideous. But, some wizard with more money and lineage than good sense wanted to give it to his fiancé. So, he called on Glennings, who called on Harry. He'd already had the blasted thing for two weeks and the client was getting antsy. Harry'd already tried every means at his disposal to determine the nature of the curse. So far he'd  turned up squat. The only option he had left was a variation of the disclosing potion. The only person who met Glennings standards for that particular potion was Severus Snape. Harry sighed and glared at the broach. He hadn't seen Snape in 13 years, and that was just fine with him.

Snape had been a great help in the defeat of Voldemort. If it weren't for the information the man had gathered in his work as a spy many more people would have died. Harry had come to know the man a little better during briefings with the Order. Even began to respect him for doing such a thankless job. He never did get along with the sarcastic, malicious man, however. Looking back though, he could see the wicked sense of humor and biting wit the man posesed. In hindsight, and with the distance of years, the time he'd spent with Snape had been enjoyable. The older man had kept him on his toes with his verbal jabs and never let him wallow in self pity when things went wrong.

Hmm, Harry thought, maybe it's time to pay Snape a visit. See if memory stacks up to reality.

%% Hogwarts, 12 years earlier %%

It'd been a week since the brats had left for the summer and Severus Snape finally felt relaxed enough to enjoy the quiet. All the irksome end of term business had been finished. His classroom was cleaned and closed up. Orders for next years supplies had been sent. The last parent, upset about their precious child's grades, had been dealt with. It was finally his time. Time to relax, catch up on the latest advances in potions and do a bit of research of his own.

This summer was sweeter than any in too long to consider. It would be the first in much too long without the threat of Voldemort hanging over his head like the sword of Damascles. 

He was finally free of the mistake he'd made in his youth. He, for one, felt he'd atoned enough. Too bad he was in the minority with that opinion. When the truth of his role in the war had come out, there had been an uproar. The vast majority of the public couldn't get past him being a Death Eater. Even being a former Death Eater turned spy had not helped. The consensus was, once a Death Eater always a Death Eater.

He'd managed, thanks to Albus Dumbledore, to avoid Azkaban. In the court of public opinion however, he was damned. He'd been accosted in public and his job had been threatened. Severus had kept his position, again thanks to Albus, but he avoided going out in public. Even a year later he was still vilified. He sometimes wondered if it was worth it. Then, he would remember seeing the Dark Mark fade from his flesh. That was worth nearly anything. Still, though, he did wonder.

Relaxing in front of the fire, there was always a chill in the dungeons, he unwrapped the package that had arrived that morning. There was no return address or sender information on the plain brown paper it was wrapped in. Very unusual, and Severus was a paranoid man. However, the package had made it through his wards. If there were anything malicious within, the wards would've detected it. The paper came away to reveal an ornate wooden box. Severus turned it in his hands, the craftsmanship was exquisite, not a seam to be seen. It was constructed of two contrasting woods that flowed together as if they were from the same tree. Who would send him such a trinket? His curiosity roused, nimble fingers found the seam of the lid and opened it.

The empty interior of the box was the last thing he saw as the world went black.

When he came to, he found himself lying in the infirmary, subject to the worried gaze of Headmaster Dumbledore.

"What happened?" Severus rasped out. His tongue felt thick, his mouth was dry and his throat was sore, signs he'd long ago learned to associate with unconsciousness. Clearing his throat he spoke again, "How long?"

Dumbledore sighed, relief evident on his face, "Three days that we know of. It's midday Thursday now. When you didn't appear for any meals Monday I went to check on you." He handed Severus a glass of water as the younger man sat up. "You were unconscious on the floor of your parlor. When I was unable to rouse you I brought you here."

"Since Sunday evening then," Severus muttered taking another small sip of water. "Was there a small wooden box with me?"

"Yes, on the floor next to you. It's been checked for curses and hexes," Dumbledore looked worried again, "all that was found was the residue of powerful magic on the inside of the box. Not enough to be able to tell what magic was used however."

Severus sighed, setting aside the now empty water glass he lay back down. With resignation in his voice he asked, "What did it do to me?" From the look on Albus' face it wasn't good.

"We aren't sure, whatever it was left no trace." The Headmaster looked uncharacteristically hesitant.

"Come now, old friend, what are you holding back?" he braced himself for the worst.

"Severus," Albus looked unsettled, "you no longer have a magical signature."

%% present %%

Harry apperated to the gates of Hogwarts. Gazing up at the castle he felt the same sense of homecoming he had as a student. Letting the feeling wash over him he wondered why he'd waited so long to come back. Walking up the path he marveled at how unchanged it looked. He knew there had been changes though. Dumbledore had retired a few years ago, McGonagall was headmistress now. He wondered what other changes had occurred and if he'd have the time to explore his former home to find those changes. Business first though, he needed to see Headmistress McGonagall to find out if Professor Snape was available.

The gargoyle was the same as he remembered, it made him grin. He'd learned a few things since he'd been a student however. He had no need to try to guess the password; he told the gargoyle his name and reason for wanting to see the Headmistress and waited. The information would be delivered and some one would meet him or let him up.

After only a few minutes wait the gargoyle jumped aside, revealing the moving staircase. Traveling along on the staircase he let the memories of past trips to the office flow through his mind, the good and the bad. Unfortunately the bad far out numbered the good. The news of Sirius' death, Uncle Vernon's death, the attacks on wizards that occurred daily near the end of the war, and the one that still hurt all these years later, Draco Malfoy's murder at his own father's hands.

Harry remembered the day like it was yesterday. It had been Yule hols his seventh year. Draco had begun spying for the Order of the Phoenix in his fifth year. With his introduction into the Order his sixth year Harry had become his handler. Working together they had developed a friendship. There was so much to the blond no one ever saw. On Harry's part, deeper feelings had developed. He came to love the ambitions, irreverent boy. He'd never told a soul of his feelings however. The middle of a war wasn't' the time he'd told himself.

Then, in October of their seventh year Voldemort had finally fallen. Harry had felt he could finally tell Draco how he felt. They'd been able to be open about their friendship, and most didn't seem to care. By Yule holidays he'd finally gathered enough courage. He was going to tell Draco he loved him when the other boy came back after the holidays. The blond had gone home to be with his mother - Lucius had disappeared during the final confrontation. He knew gender wasn't an issue to either of them. Their sexuality was only one of the things they'd talked about during long rambling discourses. He spent the holiday on tenter hooks anticipating Draco's reaction to his revelation.

On December 27, Dumbledore had called him to his office and given him the news that Draco was dead. Lucius had killed him before Narcisa managed to subdue him. Harry had been numb as Dumbledore handed him a roll of parchment. It was from Draco. He'd left the office in a daze. The next weeks were a blur. He managed to finally get himself together, but was unable to bring himself to read the letter from Draco. It wasn't till the evening before graduation that he read it. Closing himself within his bed curtains, with ample spells to ensure he wouldn't be disturbed, he unrolled the parchment.

Harry,

To sound like a bad cliché, if you're reading this I'm dead. With Voldemort dead I'd hoped I'd be safe, but with my father missing, well, I'm sure he's what happened to me.

I've enjoyed our friendship. You are more than the scar on your face and I'm glad I got to know that. I'm also glad you refused my friendship all those years ago. Two reasons, first, it started me on the road to thinking for myself. Second, it was fun being your adversary. You are a worthy opponent.

Don't take on any guilt for my death. There was no way for you to know or prevent it. I made my own choices, good and bad. You gave that to me.

I have only one regret, I'm not brave enough to tell you how I feel. I know it's wrong of me to do this, but, I love you. Harry Potter, not The Boy Who Lived or the savior of the wizarding world, but who you are inside. Don't ever settle for less than that. 

May the gods bless your life, Harry.

Love, Draco

He'd sobbed himself to sleep that night.

Shaking off the melancholy of the memories, Harry knocked on the Headmistress' door. At the crisp "Enter" he stepped in. The office hadn't really changed, the same portraits hung on the walls, the knick-knacks were different, but still abundant. The main difference was the lack of Fawkes. The phoenix had gone with Dumbledore when the old man had retired. Professor McGonagall, rather Headmistress McGonagall, looked the same as she had 13 years ago.

"Harry Potter," she greeted warmly as she rose from behind her desk and approached him, "what a surprise. What brings you back to Hogwarts?"

Shaking her hand, Harry sat in one of the armchairs before the fireplace at her gesture. "Business, unfortunately Headmistress."

"Please, call me Minerva, you've earned the right." She sat in the chair opposite Harry, "Would you care for some tea while we discuss business?"

"Yes, please," Harry answered, settling back in his chair, "that would be lovely."

With a wand gesture a tea service appeared on the small table between them. Pouring the tea Minerva asked, "What kind of business brings you to Hogwarts?"

"I'm working as a curse breaker for Glennings and Sons," he accepted the cup she offered. "I'm having difficulty with a particular item and was hoping to enlist Professor Snape's help."

"If you don't mind me asking, why Severus? As I recall, the two of you never got on well while you were at school," the Headmistress' tone was curious.

"Well," Harry took a sip of his tea, "Professor Snape is the only potion maker in Britain, outside of those they already employee, that meets Glennings standards. They are very particular about their reputation."

"Oh my, that could be a problem," Minerva sighed, "Severus no longer works with us."

"Oh, where is he now? Did he finally go into research full time?" Harry was curious, as much as he'd disliked the Professor's methods he couldn't imagine the man doing anything but teaching.

The older woman sighed again, "No, he didn't go into research. In fact, I don't believe anyone knows where he is."

Well, this was unexpected. "What happened to him, if I may ask?"

"I'm not sure," the Headmistress replied. "About 12 years ago he was ill for some time. When he recovered, he left the school. That was the last time I saw him. I'm not sure even Albus knows where he went."

"That throws a spanner in the works," Harry was disappointed, he'd begun to look forward to seeing his former professor. "I'll have to inform Glennings he's no longer available. Would it be alright if I wandered around the castle a bit? For old times sake."

"That would be fine." They stood and moved to the door, "I'm sure I don't need to remind you not to disturb any classes in session."

Harry chuckled, "Of course not Headmistress. Thank you for your time, and the tea."

"Certainly Harry," she opened the office door for him, "feel free to visit anytime, you're always welcome."

He grinned, "Thank you," and took his leave. Re-exploring his old home would be a perfect way to spend the afternoon.


	3. 2

%% six months later %%

Harry was relaxing in front of the fire with his new favorite pastime - wondering about Severus Snape. Was he alive? Was he dead? Where was he? Why didn't any one know anything? He knew he was obsessing, but age hadn't mellowed his insatiable curiously. No matter how much trouble it had gotten him in over the years.

He hadn't spoken of his new preoccupation with his friends. He could imagine their reactions easily enough though. Ron would ask why he cared about the 'greasy git' and generally be of the opinion of good riddance. Hermione would become concerned and offer to help, but only after lecturing him on respecting others privacy and maybe Snape didn't want to be found.

No, he was content to mull it over on his own. Besides, it was a nice distraction from his everyday concerns. He could spin elaborate fantasies of what could have happened. Everything from a slow death by poison, covered up of course, to Snape falling in love and running way to get married. The last never failed to make him smile; it was the most outrageous thing he'd ever thought of. Though, admittedly, with age and hindsight, he could see that Snape had a lot to offer. His voice for one, not to mention his intelligence and wit. He certainly wasn't the ideal of beauty, however, he was striking.

Harry sighed; he really needed to go out more if he was starting to rhapsodize over Snape. It was hard to date though. Nine times out of ten his date was more interested in being seen with him than in being with him. It was frustrating. He'd never forgotten Draco's letter, but it seemed as though a man who was interested in him for his own sake didn't exist.

He stood and stretched, enough with the moping. He had work in the morning; it was time to head to bed.

%% Glasgow %%

Professor Severus Snape collected his books and papers in preparation for heading home. It had been another day of trying to pound the subtleties of philosophy in to students who'd rather be on the football pitch. Well, the freshmen at least. His upper class students were more appreciative. University tended to weed those that wanted to learn from those that didn't.

It was nice to be appreciated. In fact he was the most popular philosophy professor the Uni'd had in quite some time. He did have a unique grasp of the subject if he did say so himself.

He grimaced, yes, unique was one way to put it. However, he hadn't reestablished his entire life by dwelling on the past. Learning from it, yes, but not dwelling. He did spare a thought for his old friend Albus Dumbledore. He did occasionally wonder how the old man was getting on. He had to be nearly 150 by now.

Locking his office he began the walk to his flat. His life certainly hadn't turned out the way he expected he reflected. Who would've thought the reviled potions master of Hogwarts would end up the respected professor of philosophy at the Glasgow University? Certainly not him, and it was his life! For the countless time he thanked whoever had sent him the cursed box. And wouldn't they be upset to know their curse had turned out to be anything but? Chuckling lightly to himself his step became jauntier as he recalled the events of nearly 13 years ago.

%% Hogwarts 13 (or so) years ago %%

Severus fidgeted with the blankest covering his lap. He'd been in the damned bed three days. Three days too long in his opinion. But Poppy wanted him where she could keep an eye on him. With Dumbledore backing her up, that's exactly what she got. The infernal woman had threatened him with a body bind if he didn't stay put! "Bloody nerve of some people," he muttered.

"Bloody hell! I'm starting to talk to my self. That's it; I'm getting out of here. She can't curse me if she can't find me."

Just as he threw the blankets off, Dumbledore entered. "My dear Severus, not trying to escape Poppy's care are you?" The old man's eyes twinkled with mirth.

"Damnit, Albus, I want out of here." He was appalled to find himself whining. Modulating his tone he continued, "I can assure you I'm well enough to return to my own rooms. I'm not leaving the castle."

Dumbledore sat in the bedside chair. "True, true, but you know how Poppy can be." Ignoring Severus' snort he went on, "I'm afraid I haven't any good news my boy. None of the tests we've run have turned up anything. It's as if you've never had magic. However, more extensive tests can be done at St. Mungo's"

"No," the other man interrupted. "No more tests. I've been thinking about this curse, in fact I've thought of little else these last three days, and I've come to a decision. Since I can no longer perform magic, and I've tried, it's a perfect opportunity for me to start my life over. I will never be any more than a former Death Eater if I remain in the wizard world. Feared and hated despite my accomplishments. This curse provides the perfect incentive to begin anew in the muggle world. For that is essentially what I am now. Frankly, I've no desire to stay in the wizard world. It has nothing left to offer me aside from a life time of further looking over my shoulder."

The twinkle had left Albus' eyes at the other mans words. "You've given this much thought haven't you?"

"Yes, I have Albus. I've had little opportunity for anything else."

Albus sighed, "Please, let me help you then. The Ministry owes me a favor or three," he again ignored the snort form the bed, "let me use them to help you get settled."

"Certainly old friend, your help would be most appreciated." His tone turned sarcastic, "Besides, it's the least the Ministry can do for me."

Eyes again twinkling Albus chuckled, "I am going to miss you dear boy."

%% present %%

Using the favors owed Albus by the Ministry, Severus became a fully documented muggle. He had the entire paper trail, including an education that made him a doctor of philosophy. The twists and turns of the discipline had always fascinated him. However, that was all the help he'd taken from the Ministry. He'd converted his savings to pounds, then found and won a job on his own merits. Thirteen years now, and he had no regrets. He was happier than he could ever remember being.

The walk to his modest flat passed swiftly as he was lost in thought. Even with his determination not to dwell in the past the autumn always made him slightly melancholic. So many significant events in his life had happened at the turn of the season. The first and second, final, defeat of Voldemort. The death of his mother. The incident at the shrieking shack. His initiation into the Death Eaters and subsequent defection a year later. Add to that the beginning of the school term and it made for a season laden with pitfalls to dark thoughts.

Socrates and Plato, his cats, were waiting by the door when he arrived home. The strays had appeared three years ago and in spite of his relative indifference toward them, had stayed. They had proven pleasant company over the years. For despite his popularity, he remained a solitary man, resisting his fellow professors' efforts to include him in their social lives.

The two cats darted in as soon as the door opened. With piteous meows they informed him they were hungry. "Just wait, you mangy beasts, I've only got in the door." Affection, that many who used to know him would be surprised at, colored his voice. Moving through the cozy lounge he deposited his satchel on the cluttered desk and hung his coat on the rack, all the while maneuvering around the cats twining round his ankles.

"Well, you little scoundrels, what should it be tonight? Tea in, or at the pub?" Entering the kitchen he retrieved a tin of cat food. Splitting it between two saucers he placed the food on the floor. "I think that despite your wonderful company it will be tea at the pub today." Not unexpectedly, he was ignored by the felines attacking their meal.

Putting his coat back on he left to make his way to his usual pub.

%%

Four weeks of holiday, an entire month, what a glorious feeling. It had been nearly five years since he'd taken any substantial time from work. Harry planned to make the most of it. No work, no responsibilities, and no one bothering him. Not even Ron and Hermione. He planned on spending the last long weekend of his holiday with them, so they wouldn't feel left out. But this vacation was for him. 

They'd married nearly ten years ago and had their first child now. A little boy, Arthur, after Ron's dad. He was four and as cute as a bug. Unfortunately, ever since Arthur's birth, Ron, and especially Hermione, were on him to settle down. It was getting rather tiresome. It made the time he spent with them trying.

It wasn't that he didn't want to settle down. The right wizard just hadn't come along and he was unwilling to settle for anything less. Besides, he was still plagued by the fame his scar brought. The mark had finally faded, however it was still visible and thanks to the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly he had one of the most recognizable faces in wizardom.

Maybe he'd meet someone on holiday. He would be spending the four weeks in the muggle world, so it was possible. Though not probable, he snorted softly to himself as he walked down the street. Oh yeah, I'm going to meet a man and have a grand passionate affair. Then, I'm going to tell him I'm a wizard and he's going to run the other way because I'm obviously insane. No, as nice as the thought is, meeting a muggle who's 'the one' is not going to happen.

There were better things to wonder about anyway. Like if the pub on the corner had decent food. He'd deliberately come to Glasgow, where he didn't know anyone. So, he had no recommendations of food or lodging. Gently, he extended his senses, checking for any magical signature. He had no desire to run into any of his fellow witches or wizards. He wanted a holiday free of the baggage that came with being Harry Potter, the man who defeated Voldemort. Feeling nothing, he decided he'd chance it on the food and entered.

%%

Severus was enjoying a leisurely tea with Professor Ramsey, who, ironically, was the Egyptology professor at the university. Nicholas Ramsey was one of the few people Severus didn't mind spending time with. He would even go so far as to call the man friend. Ramsey was a taciturn man who spoke as little as Severus. He didn't indulge in idle chatter for the sake of hearing his own voice. When he did speak however, it behooved a person to pay attention. Severus had learned tremendous amounts of Egyptian history and how it was related to, and intertwined with, events of the current era.

They were sitting in the rear of the pub, with a clear view of the doors. Severus had chosen the table, old habits die hard. So he had and unobstructed view when one of the last people he ever expected to see walked in.

"Bloody hell," Severus breathed out, interrupting Nicholas.

"What?" Nicholas' tone was a bit sharp; he disliked being interrupted, by anyone. "Hells man, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Eyes trained on the man who'd walked in Severus answered quietly, "I have." He shook his head, as though to clear his thoughts. "I apologize my friend. Please, continue." Nicholas gave him an odd look, but picked up where he'd left off.

The bloody Boy Who Lived, all grown up, Severus thought irritably. Well, he's not chasing me out of my favorite pub. He doesn't appear to recognize me however. It'll be my pleasure to ignore him, as he deserves. Reassured of his anonymity he turned his full attention back to Nicholas.

%%

Harry took in the dim interior of the pub. It appeared cozy and welcoming. The cliental looked to be older, which was all to the good as far as he was concerned. Less chance of anyone bothering him.

He made his way to a table near the rear. There were only a few people scattered about, the closest patrons were a pair of professor types two tables over. Just right to insure his privacy.

When the waitress came over, he ordered a pint of the house and whatever the special was. When she left, he pulled a book from his satchel and settled back for some quality time with the Bard. Shakespeare never goes out of style, he mused. A truly immortal man. I wonder if he was a wizard.

The sounds of quiet conversations drifted to his ears. It seemed he was right about the two gentlemen to his left. They were professors; at least they were debating some sort of philosophy. He strained his ears to pick up more, shamelessly eavesdropping.

"I'm telling you Nicholas, I'm right."

"Now, Severus, you may be. I'm not saying you're wrong, only that I'm unsure of the soundness of your premise. Now . . ."

Harry lost track at that point. The name Severus piquing his curiosity. It couldn't be, could it? He didn't think it was a common name, so it was possible. Deciding he had to find out, he surreptitiously looked over at the men. He immediately discounted the man speaking; he appeared short and had blond hair. Not to mention he had a perfectly normal nose, not like Professor Snape's protrubence. The other man however, even with the short respectable hair style and healthy skin color, there was no way to mistake that profile for anyone but Professor Severus Snape.

As the waitress approached with his meal, Harry shook off his shock. No one has seen the man in nearly 14 years and here he is in a pub in Glasgow. His curiosity was running rampant. What was Snape doing here? What happened to him all those years ago? What was he doing now?

Age may not have mellowed his curiosity, but it had taught him patience. The Professor Snape of his youth had detested being interrupted and had no patience for those that dared it. Harry had nothing but time, he could wait to catch the professor on his way out.


	4. 3

He didn't have long to wait. As he finished his shepard's pie the blond man, Nicholas, rose and took his leave.

"It's been an enjoyable evening Severus, but I must get home. I promised Rachel I'd be home early. Shall I stop by your office tomorrow?"

"Certainly," Severus replied. "I'll have those papers you wanted. Give Rachel my regards."

When Nicholas left Severus pulled a book from his coat pocket and looked to be settling in for some quiet reading. Harry didn't want to wait too long, interrupting the man while he was doing anything wasn't a good idea.

Gathering his courage, which seemed to have dissipated during his meal, Harry approached the man who looked so like his former professor.

//

Severus had kept an eye on Potter since the boy had come in. He had caught the brief looks that had been sent his way. He was fairly certain the young man had recognized him. When his former student rose and approached his table, he was positive of it.

This ought to be interesting, he mused. The pup is sure to be full of questions and accusations. He always has been. Hmm, it's been awhile since I've been the 'greasy bastard', I wonder if I've still got it in me. Smirking to himself, he was sure Potter would manage to bring it out.

Harry wasn't sure why he was nervous. It may not even be his former professor. Except for the name and profile the two men were different. His potions professor had shoulder length, coarse, greasy looking hair, unhealthily pale skin and a seemingly permanent condescending sneer. This man had a short business man's hair style; however the hair did look coarse and thick. His skin had a healthy bronze cast to in and neither condensation nor a sneer had crossed his features as long as Harry'd been watching.

Face it mate, he chastised himself, you think this bloke's good looking. You don't really want it to be Snape. You're looking for that muggle to have that passionate affair with. Come on back to the real world with the rest of us.

"Professor Snape?" he asked diffidently. "Professor Severus Snape?"

Ah, now for some fun, Severus grinned to himself. "Yes," he answered, raising his eyes from his book. "Can I help you with something?"

"Ah, yes," damnit Harry, you're a grown man, don't let him intimidate you. "Did you used to teach at Hogwarts?"

Severus had to give the younger man some credit, he'd apparently gown up. This didn't seem to be the rash, impulsive youth of 14 years ago. This was a seemingly grown man, confident looking and polite. Besides, he was a decade and a half from being the reviled potions master of Hogwarst. Time, distance and no longer needing it had mellowed that aspect of his personality. He found he had no desire to bait the younger man.

"Sit down, Mr. Potter," he sighed. "You may be the last person I want to see, but I do remember the niceties my mother tried to instill in me."

Harry didn't want to blow this opportunity to satisfy his curiosity. If the professor says he'll be polite, it's the least I can do to reciprocate. Time to let my inner Slytherin out; it'll be the best way to get any information. He sat in the chair Nicholas had vacated moments before.

"Thank you Professor. I was surprised to see you here. No one has had any contact with you in so long." As an opening it was admittedly weak, but subtle never had been his strong suit, inner Slytherin or not.

"The feeling is quite mutual I assure you," Severus replied dryly, neatly avoiding the mention of his disappearance from the wizarding world. "What brings you to Glasgow?" Not that he particularly cared, but he'd said he'd be polite, so small talk it was. Besides, he found himself unaccountably interested to hear news of the world he'd left behind.

Harry settled more comfortably in his char, regardless of the professor's words he hadn't expected the man to actually be polite. "I'm here on holiday actually."

Severus raised an eyebrow at that, "I was unaware there was anything in Glasgow that would interest a person such as yourself." Let him take that however he wants the older man smirked to himself.

The younger man grinned. Ah, he thought, there's the snark I was expecting. "That's why I decided to holiday here. I don't know anyone and it's not a place anyone would expect me to be. That is the whole point of a holiday isn't it, getting away from it all?"

"Of course, being the The Boy Who Lived, grown not withstanding, you would want to avoid your hordes of fans." The grimace of distaste that crossed the other's face at the title amused Severus. Perhaps baiting the boy will be fun.

"You don't know the half if it," Harry groused. "Bloody papers are still printing articles and photos." Damn, the man still gets a rise out of me. Act your age mate, you're not his student, you're 30 years old. Act it damn it. "But yes, my notoriety does prevent having a restful holiday. It seems they can forget Voldemort but not me."

"It's the human condition, Mr. Potter, to forget that which is distasteful and revere their heroes and revile their villains to an idiotic degree." Bitterness 15 years old colored his voice.

Harry didn't miss it. "Is that why you're here Professor, the idiocies of the human condition?"

The former potions master pinned the younger man with a hard stare. "And what, may I ask, gives you that impression?"

He answered with a hard gaze of his own. "To the best of my knowledge, I'm the first wizard or witch to see you in 14 years. I know that after the war, even when your role as a spy became public knowledge, the public called for you to be sent to prison. And when that didn't work, they demanded your job. When they couldn't take that from you, they made your life miserable. That is what gives me 'that impression'.

Harry's gaze softened and an apologetic note entered his voice, "I didn't find any of this out until recently. If I'd known at the time, I'd like to think, I could have done something about it. I was their bloody damned savior after all. But I was a dumb kid, high on the accolades. I'm sorry."

"Bloody noble Gryffindor," Severus snorted. "The sentiment is lovely, Mr. Potter, but I don't believe it would have done any good. Even Albus could never convince anyone to see past the mark on my arm."

"That doesn't change how I feel Professor. You were on our side and we all should have defended you."

"The past is past and can not be changed. Things happen for a reason, and I for one am happy with how it has turned out." The older man grimaced, "I always knew Gryffindors were detrimental to the intellect. I've descended to clichés."

The brunette laughed lightly, "To true, Professor. Clichés do seem to be the realm of Gryffindor. So, why are you in Glasgow?"

The apology and laughter eased some of the tension between the two men. Now they were two former acquaintances becoming reacquainted and sharing news.

"I'm a Professor of Philosophy at Caledonian University here in Glasgow. I have been for several years now. And what is it you are on holiday from? You're a bit too old for professional quidditch."

"I never did play professionally, not for lack of offers though, for lack of desire. After Draco died I couldn't see myself doing it. He'd always wanted to play on a professional team."

Both men were quiet a moment, remembering the vivacious blond.

"Sorry," Harry shook his head a bit, "I still miss him. Anyway, I'm a curse breaker for Glennings and Sons. Have been for ten years. That's actually how I found out you had disappeared. I needed your expertise for a variant of a disclosing potion."

"Glennings, that's a very prestigious firm, congratulations," the tone was sincere. "Did you manage to find anyone who was able to brew what you needed?"

Their conversation turned to 'shop talk' from both their professions and eventually to who was doing what now in the wizarding world. Harry's position at Glennings afforded him the opportunity to hear all the latest gossip.

Severus was pleasantly surprised the conversation brought up no painful memories or feelings of loss. He was happy with his life for the first time in perhaps ever. It reinforced his idea that he'd made the right decision in leaving the wizarding world behind.

As Harry relaxed in his hotel room later that night, Professor Snape had recommended the hotel to him, he thought back over his evening. It had turned out to be very pleasant. The Professor's wit and sarcasm were as sharp as he remembered and of course his voice was still magnificent. It was nice to talk with someone who was unimpressed by who he was. Ron and Hermione didn't count, they were family.

Drifting off to sleep he realized he'd never found out why his former professor had no magical signature.

//

"So, Severus," Nicholas Ramsey perched himself on the edge of the desk, "who was that man who cracked your composure at the pub last night?"

"A former student," was the brusque answer. "Must you sit on my desk? There are perfectly serviceable chairs."

"You know I only do it so you'll chastise me," the blond man teased.

A small, but genuine, smile graced Severus' face. Nicholas may be a man of few words, but he had a wide streak of deviltry in him. Only those he considered his closest friends were ever witness to it and to his oft times shameless flirting. "Nicholas, how many times have I told you, you're not my type," he chastised gently.

"You know," Nicholas settled into one of the armchairs across from the desk, "you never have told me why I'm not your type. Is it because I'm blond or a man?"

The smile turned to a smirk, "Yes."

The blond laughed, "You, my friend, are impossible. So, what kind of former student can rattle your nerves like that?"

"He was one of my students at the boarding school I taught at before coming here. It was quite a shock to see him."

"Ah," Nicholas smirked, "your mysterious past. You do realize that I've now horrible ideas about what occurred to make it mysterious," he leered.

"Nicholas, you are delusional."

"It makes life more fun. You said you'd have those papers for me?"

The former wizard had come across some old manuscripts regarding Egyptian society while going through the last of the boxes that had come out of his quarters at Hogwarts. He'd been amazed at the sheer amount of possessions he'd accumulated. In an attempt to leave behind his former life he'd stored everything that wasn't necessary. In the last few years he'd finally begun to sort through it all. He hadn't realized what a pack rat he was. It seemed he'd kept every bit of information that had caught his fancy. Well, knowledge was power. "Here they are, you reprobate. I should hold them hostage to your good behavior."

"But, Severus, you'd never have any fun if you did that." He paged through the stack with apparent glee. "Where do you find these things? They're magnificent."

"Actually, I'm not sure where they came from," the brunette's voice was rueful. "I seem to save everything I come across."

"It's certainly a boon for me." Nicholas stood to make his leave, "You will be coming to the house this Saturday to watch the game won't you? I won't be accepting any excuses. You do need to socialize occasionally."

"Of course, how could I refuse your lovely invitation."

Nicholas snorted at the sarcasm, "Good, 5 o'clock, don't be late." With that the Egyptology professor swept out the door.

Severus shook his head in bemusement. Nicholas certainly was one if a kind, and a good friend. In fact, the other man had been the first to try to befriend him when he'd begun teaching at the University.

It had been an interesting transition, to say the least. He'd thought he'd been prepared to live without magic. It'd come as a shock to realized how much he'd relied on 'foolish wand waving' in his daily life. From checking the time, to fetching his tea, to a light in the dark. It had been disconcerting. Becoming familiar and used to 'muggle' technology had only been part of it. The wizard worlds society rules were still decidedly Elizabethan, modern mores had been a bit of a shock. Add to that the fact he'd almost never left Hogwarts during his tenure, and he as woefully unprepared to interact with his new peers.

His natural inclination toward privacy had not helped; his fellow professors had respected his desires. Nicholas had as well; however, he did repeatedly engage Severus in conversation, always on their respective subjects, never anything personal. Slowly, Severus realized, they'd become friends and their conversations began to include more personal revelations. The friendship had helped Severus settle into his new life and finally shed the irritable façade he'd lived behind for the pervious 20 years.

The appearance of Harry Potter the previous night had been a shock in more ways than one. Intellectually he'd known that eventually some one from his previous life would see him. However, he hadn't really expected to be recognized. His appearance had changed in the intervening years, and people did only see what they expected to see. For Potter to recognize him had been a surprise.

The bigger surprise however, was when he realized he couldn't remember the last time he'd thought of his former life. It had been interesting to hear of people and places he once knew, but it had only provoked a vague nostalgia. He'd been prepared for stronger feelings, but they'd never materialized.

He'd actually enjoyed talking with Potter. The boy he remembered had grown into an intelligent and thoughtful man. He'd fully expected the boy to be a wastrel, living off his fame. It was pleasant to be proven wrong. Perhaps they would run across each other again while the younger man was in the city.


End file.
